Lines Of Ink
by chemicalflashes
Summary: Dean Thomas is numb with shock. Dumbledore died last night, and Dean cannot help but imagine how the funeral is going to play out. [decayverse]
**A/N: Written for the Weekly Character Appreciation Challenge by hillstar on HPFC.**

 **Week 1 (1/5/16-8/5/16): Dean Thomas**

. . . ...

 _Lines Of Ink_

He stares blankly at the parchment lying in front of him. A half-sketched, roaring lion made of ink stares back at him. The corridor is empty except for him and the windows are all open. They show him that a storm is brewing out in the cool winds of the Scottish summer.

His mind is still numb from the events of last night. Dumbledore died.

 _Dumbledore died._

It rings in his mind like an unceasing bell and it makes the nightmare very, very real and very, very terrifying. The funeral of the great wizard is going to take some days later and in his head, Dean Thomas already knows how it is going to play out.

Black lines - some swirling, some straight - merge together in a vast white plane to create various pictures.

Professor McGonagall is standing in the middle of a large group of first years, her height easily towering over their small frames. Her hair is scattered about, instead of being in an immaculate bun like it usually is. The children all look clueless and petrified. They have not been here for the last six years and they do not know what it is like living in fear of a madman.

It is hard to tell who is comforting whom.

Neville Longbottom is sitting on his bed in the dormitory. Like Dean, he stares blankly, not at a piece of parchment but at his pair of shiny, black shoes lying on the floor. He looks at them as if he does not know what they are and what they are meant for. He unsees them while seeing them and subconsciously loosens the red and gold coloured tie wrapped around his neck.

Sweat is running down Neville's forehead.

Luna Lovegood's pale hair is a mess as she walks through the grassy fields at the far end of the Black Lake where the funeral has to take place. To everyone, she still looks like the loon they think she is. But whereas others merely skim through the images surrounding them, Dean knows better because he strives to break in them with his pen. And today, Dean knows that there is no iridescent brightness present behind Luna's grey irises.

She is sad like the rest of them, and that, in his opinion, is something as rare as a blue moon.

Lavender and Parvati sit together on the stairs at the Castle's entrance. Lavender's eyes are red from crying all night and her head lies limply on her best friend's shoulder. Parvati is looking up towards the stormy grey sky. Her lips are moving, but no sound is escaping them. The girl is chanting a silent prayer.

Both are beautiful; both are broken.

Seamus, his best mate, is looking lost. The wind is ruffling his hair as he stands beneath an oak tree and holds his wand in his right hand. Sparks are emitting from it and his knuckles have gone a ghostly white from clutching it so tightly. Dean is afraid that it might break if his friend continues doing that. His eyes are searching, most likely looking for him.

Seamus does not cry.

Ginny - ah, enchanting Ginny, is alone, like she prefers it. She sees the preparations going on from her spot among the smoky clouds, on a broom. Her red hair has framed her face and -

Dean does not think more about her. It hurts.

Theodore Nott looks stately in his expensive black robes. Not a single thread or hair is out of place. He is alone, like he usually is. Suddenly, a hoard of younger children - second or third year Slytherins come and surround him, their gazes teeming with numerous questions, and he smiles wryly as he bends down. This is one of the strangest things Dean has ever seen.

He doubts it is going to happen.

Romilda Vane for once is not busy gossiping or creating unnecessary trouble. Oh, she is sitting among her group of friends all right, looking fine, but her dark eyes betray her fear of the future. Her hands are trembling ever so slightly and her wavy hair is falling in her face, which is bent down.

The girl looks small for a fourteen year old.

Susan Bones lies in Justin Finch-Fletchley's arms. She is crying because she has seen enough death to last a dozen lifetimes and she cannot, cannot handle any more. Her best friend is trying his best to comfort her, murmuring, "It's going to be okay, please just don't cry," in her ears. One of his hands holds her shaking frame tightly to his while the other one caresses her red hair.

Fingers snap in front of Dean's face, effectively breaking him out of his reverie.

Colin Creevey stands in front of him, his camera for once nowhere in sight. His eyes are knowing, as if he knows what he had been thinking about just seconds ago. Perhaps he knows this because he himself had been imagining the proceedings in his mind like a series of snapshots. Perhaps he had seen the same things as him.

People call this boy insane, but the artist that lives inside Dean's head knows that there has always been a spine-chilling method to his madness. Almost mechanical and inhuman. He still remembers in vivid detail the night when Ginny had kissed Harry and this boy had approached him in a corridor like this, offering comfort by burning things in the fireplace.

"Oi, Thomas, aren't you going to join the others? Finnigan is looking for you."

"Of course," he mumbles as he heaves himself up from the ground.

The inky lines converge together for one last time before he starts walking to leave.

He sees himself, his face half covered with a long scarf and wearing a really long overcoat - it is Dad's. He is hiding behind a tree in a dense forest. On the right side, a group of four or five men can be seen. They are ugly and ferocious and they are wearing red armbands on their sleeves. With a sweeping coldness, he realises that they are looking for him.

Dean Thomas can very well fathom that his peaceful days are over and now he is going to have to run far away. He staggers in his steps for a moment before resuming his walk, his head held high. Muggle-born or not, they cannot suppress him.

Not today. Not ever.

. . . ...

 **I have half a mind to write another Dean story, 'cause he's just so adorable.**

 **••• Anyone want to see what burning things in the fireplace entailed? Head out to _Firewhiskey And Fireplaces_.**

 **Clarifications: Dean is actually a halfblood, but since his mother was never sure whether his father had been a wizard or not, Dean had begun to think that he was a muggle-born and that is why he had gone on the run.**


End file.
